Hidden In Plain Sight
by Lauri4Snape
Summary: Hermione is failing to deal with an Eating disorder and finds comfort in the wrong man. WARNING: EATING DISORDER AND SELF HARM


**WARNING: EATING DISRODER AND SELF HARM**

This is based off my true story, I'm hoping to take it to around 5 or 6 chapters. It's a way for myself to get out thoughts, feelings and memories while being able to distance yself using my favourite fanfiction couple Severus/Hermione.

Enjoy, and I really hope this doesn't cause pain for anyone. It's the truth and the truth hurts.

Oh and I don't have an editor to go over my stuff before I publish it so sorry for gramical errors or if something doesn't make sense. Let me know and I'll fix it before anyone else sees!

* * *

Licking the last of the icing off my fingers I look down at the plate below me, there's crumbs and cream that didn't quite make it to my mouth. I greedily pick up the plate with my sticky fingers and lick the last evidence straight off the plate. I call out to the nearest house elf.

'Can I have more of the tart please?'

An older grumpy looking house elf limps his way towards me and with a confidence I've never seen in a house elf apart from Dobby simply says:

'No Miss, You may not.'

Oh no. 'But please I need more'

'Miss has eaten all of the tart, and all of the pie, and the last of the pumpkin juice. There will be no more until breakfast'

I did it again. I ate it all and I still want more. My stomach hurts and I feel sick yet I want- no need more.

'Please, anything?'

'No Miss, Koch suggests Miss goes to bed- It's past midnight'

'Sorry' I shyly say to him, to them all. I've done this so many times it's almost routine. I slide out of the chair and meekly make my way to the Kitchen doors.

'Koch suggests Miss stop coming down here. Koch thinks Miss needs help. Koch knows this isn't good for Miss.'

I couldn't even turn back and look him in the eye. I close the Kitchen doors behind me and make my way back to Gryffindor tower. I feel so sick and every step is harder, it feels like my legs are weighted down but I know all the weight is in my stomach. All the fat and sugar, the cream oh god I'm lactose intolerant and even that doesn't mean anything thing when I get like this. My stomach is gurgling beneath my fingers and it feels like I've swallowed a beach ball. The pure hate and resentment starts to bleed its way along my spine, I can feel it crawl up and sit at the base of my neck, raising the small hairs. My head lobs to one side and my lung's feel full spikes, stabbing me with everything breath. Tears form in my eyes just as I get to the girls bathroom, nobody should be in there at this time of night. I all but collapse at the edge of a toilet and hang my head along the brim. Tears start to fall and make tiny noises as they drop into the water, I'm here again, every time I promise will be the last but it's so hopeless to try and stop. Will it ever stop? Will I ever be normal?

I get onto my knees, still sore from the last time I did this and ungracefully press fingers along my gag reflex –knowing exactly the spot I need- I start to throw it all back up. My body heaves and spasm as it try's ridding of everything I just consumed in a mindless episode. My small body makes little noise as I cry and purge at the same time. I hated purging, most of the time I just live with the binge- forcing myself to digest all it's fat and calories. To deal with the dairy giving me painful and embarrassing gas the next day. I feel as if I deserve that. I hated purging because it's so bad for your body, throat, teeth, It's funny how I'm concerned about my body yet I still abuse it. Finally I'm throwing up bile, I flush the toilet for the third time and make my way to the basin to rid myself of the smell. I look in the mirror and sees puffy red eyes with reds spots on my eyelids where blood vessels have burst. They always do that. I look pale and tired, my hairs a frizzy mess, I feel as disgusting as I look. Fat. Pathetic. Ugly. Fat. Pathetic. Ugly. Fat. Pathetic. Ugly. My personal chant. I want to just collapse on my bed and never wake up, never have to go through this again, feel this hate for myself that feels me to the brim. I want to scream and cry and pull at my hair. But I'm so tired, too tired tonight to do anything more. I make my way to Gryffindor tower and crawl into bed knowing that if anyone found out they would think I'm crazy. Hermione Granger- Smarter witch of her age and one third of the Golden Trio. Has an eating disorder.

Waking up every morning is a clean slate. Every morning I wake up I make a promise that today will be different, I will not binge, I will eat right, I will exercise, I will get better. Of course if it were that easy it wouldn't ever be a problem. But I'll never succeed without trying. Some days are okay, some days I'll make it through and I'll be so proud of myself, I'll climb into bed that night without being bloated, with excitement that maybe tomorrow will be just as good, maybe also the day after that and the day after that. But I wish I stopped being so hopeful, it never gets better… Only worse.

Pulling the covers off me, I stumble into the bathroom noticing the other girls must have headed to breakfast already. I defiantly didn't want to miss breakfast, breakfast- if anything- is the only thing that stabilizes me. Skipping the first meal of the day is a sure fire way to find me in the kitchens between classes shoving as much in my mouth as possible. I rush down to the Great Hall with plenty of time to get a good meal in, meeting my two favourite boys in our usual spot.

'Hey, Hermione!' gurgled Ron with a mouth full of what looked like sausages. 'Have you completed the Potions homework?'

'Yes Ronald, I have. But don't think you're copying straight from my answers'

'But 'Mione…'

'I'll HELP you, not give you the answers. You're a big boy now' I say with a grin.

He lifts his head and gives me his biggest smile. It would have been cute if half of his food weren't hanging from his mouth.

I put two sausages, a small scoop of scrambled eggs, and a piece of toast on my plate. My usual. Safe. Nothing sweet to set me off. The boys are talking about Quidditch and I quickly loose interest, Ginny is too far down the table to join in the conversation- although by the way her hands are zooming around and the boys around her are watching intently I'd say she's also talking about Quidditch. Times like this I wonder what's so fascinating about the sport anyway, sure I like to watch the boys play but don't bother asking me anything about EQL (Europe Quidditch League)

I have a free first period so as usual I want to get to the Library before Malfoy takes my favourite reading spot.

'I'll see you guys in Potions' I say breaking their concentration of using Rons fork and Harrys goblet as demonstration tools.

'But don't we have a class with Hagrid first?' Harry say's looking innocent.

'No, Harry I dropped out of his class over three weeks ago, I don't fancy getting attacked by some giant slug or whatever he has planned for you.'

'Sorry 'Mione.. forgot' He grins

'It's great to know how much you guys notice me.' I laugh as I get out of my seat.

'Wait for us, we should be heading off as well'

Just as I was turning around from the table my eyes land on a pile of Fudge Flies, oh god they are my favourite. Then the battle starts in my head, I already know who's going to win but I'll fight anyway.

_No Hermione, don't do it, this is a new day, a new you._

Just one, you'll be fine.

_But if you have one you'll want the rest._

Don't deprive yourself, that's what leads to a binge.

_Having one will lead to a binge._

Go ahead, one little fudge wont hurt.

_Please Hermione, you'll be angry at yourself all day._

'Hermione, are you alright?' Harry and Ron were looking at me strangely, probably because I was just standing there staring at the plate of fudge.

'Oh yeh, fine' I smile back.

Then knowing I need to make the decision, I grab a Fudge and shove it into my mouth before I even realise what's happening. Done. No take backs. It's a long walk to the entrance of the hall and by the time I reach the end I've finished the fudge. I automatically notice another bowl of the delicious treats, as we are walking past I reach out and take another one. Two wont hurt, it's only two. I've barely swallowed the second one and my mouth is already watering and I can feel myself crave another one. This is bad, this is how it starts. I knew I shouldn't have taken the first one. It's none or all, there is no in between when it comes to a binge. I smile to the boys as they head towards the front doors, I need to head back upstairs to the library. Instead I find myself looking back at the great hall, towards the fudge Flies just sitting there with nobody even paying them attention. Nobody will notice right? I could just go back in and grab one more, just one. Then I would have had enough and wouldn't want anymore right? Wrong I know if I go back in there I will come out with nearly the whole damn plate. So why am I turning back? Stop Hermione, don't do it.

You'll hate yourself.

Oh yes, I pause for a second. I'll hate myself. Yeh well guess what, I already do. With that I reach out and take the largest hand full I can manage and stuff the fudge into my pockets. I can't let anyone see how many I took, I would look like such a pig!

I rush up to my dormitory and pull the curtains around my bed, pulling all the fudge out of my pockets. Twelve pieces. Twelve Fudge Flies are spread out on my bed cover and without a second though I start eating them two at a time. I shove them into my mouth like I've been starved. I turn into a rabid animal and chew them as fast as possible, even as my jaw begins to ache. My taste buds are in heaven as the sickly sweet flavour rolls over my tounge. Who cares? I don't, I'll give myself off and start fresh tomorrow. I get to the last fudge and pause slightly. Fourteen, Fourteen pieces of Fudge I didn't need, nor really want. All it took was just one and I lost all control, last night was completely forgotten and now I'm sitting here with one more piece. I pop it into my mouth and chew this one a little slower, only now for the first time noticing the taste.

Oh god what have I done. I've broken it today and it's barely 9am. I guess Fourteen pieces aren't so bad considering what would happen if I was alone in the Kitchens. I can't get anymore even if I tried, the kitchen isn't open for students until 12. Still, I'm 19 and lost control like a 7 year old at a Birthday Party. My throat is burning with the thick taste of the fudge and I desperately run the bathroom to drink some water. No I wouldn't throw it back up, Fouteen pieces aren't enough to throw up. To be honest, If I was alone in the great hall, I could have easily eaten the whole bowl.

Yet the self hatred and anger starts to flow over me, the chant this time just yells FAT FAT FAT FAT over and over. My eyes start watering because I feel like such a disappointment, I failed myself and in turn failed everyone who's ever counted on me. I can't control this. I hate myself for being so weak and pathetic. I look over to my bedside table and know what I want to do. The itch comes through just like the need to take those pieces of Fudge. Once my mind hooks onto and idea it's very hard to pull myself away from it. I crawl back on the my bed and lean over to rummage in the locked draw. I find what I am looking for and close the curtains around me. In my hand is a shiny and very sharp blade.

I don't want to do this, but at the same time I deserve it. I deserve to hurt, negative stimulation for negative behaviours. Isn't that how you discipline a child?

Pulling down the waistband of my pants a few inches, I can see all the faint scars lining my hips. All the times I've sat on my bed or on the edge of bathtub and felt like I deserved to be in pain. I have the faint marks all over my body, mostly on my hips because that is the easiest to hide. I soon realised that if I only did one in a certain place then if anyone asked me I could just tell them I tripped over, or Crookshanks did it. I quickly learnt a few healing spell to take away the redness and scabbing. I take the blade and press down over my hip, I slowly drag it across the skin, over my stretch marks and the fat slowly building up beneath my skin. Oh god I'm so hideous. A few more lines and I stop to hold tissues against the blood pooling at the wounds. That will have to do today, I feel better and calmer already. This time I don't heal the cuts up, I like having a visual reminder sometimes. To go to bed and fall asleep tracing the damage I did to myself. I simply wait for them to stop bleeding and clean up as if nothing happened. The only reminder I have as I walk to the Library is the discomfort of the wounds rubbing on my waistband.

And that's okay, because I deserve it.


End file.
